


A Man's Heart

by makkurataichou



Category: Tales of Zestiria
Genre: Fluff, I never thought I'd use a tag like that in my entire life, M/M, based on personal experience, failed cooking exploits, food delivery AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-09
Updated: 2016-10-09
Packaged: 2018-08-20 12:15:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,913
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8248528
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/makkurataichou/pseuds/makkurataichou
Summary: “Do I order all these chicken tenders so I can see Mikleo? Or do I order them because I love chicken tenders?”Sorey becomes dangerously obsessed with a food delivery app...as well as the blue-haired boy who brings him his food every now and then.





	

**Author's Note:**

> This fic (which I never thought I'd write) was born from a DoorDash AU tweet that I made, which eventually escalated into a full-blown Twitter discussion with [fiend](https://twitter.com/tenfiends). I used pretty much all of your ideas because they were GOLD, I hope you don't mind!!
> 
> This genre isn't really my forte ahaha aha.

“So hungry…”

Sorey clutches at his stomach and groans. This happens to him more often than he’d like to admit. His classes keep him busy every day of the week, and when he gets home, he always ends up distracted by something . It’s usually a viral video, or the neighbours’ adorable pet dog, or even the commercials on TV; before he knows it, his gut is reminding him that he should have eaten at least an hour ago, and that it’s too late to walk to the one restaurant in his small, suburban town to grab something to eat. And so, he finds himself in the same position as always—sprawled out on the floor and barely able to move because of this _debilitating hunger_ —

Forced to resort to desperate measures, he crawls across his room and grabs his phone, pulling up the only food delivery service application that actually works in such a remote area. Rose recommended it to him a month ago (“There’s no other hope for you anymore,” she had said grimly) and since then, he’s been shamelessly taking advantage of the fact that he can have food delivered to his doorstep at any time of day. Somehow, it never seems to get old.

Sorey is a self-proclaimed veteran now, having ordered ten meals in the last two weeks. The app already has his payment details; all he needs to do is tap on the restaurant, pick his usual order of chicken tenders, and hit the large “place order” button at the bottom of the screen. As always, he goes through this well-practiced routine almost mechanically and then collapses on the floor again, staring up at his ceiling.

“53 minutes…” he mumbles. “Why is it always so _specific.._.”

* * *

Precisely 50 minutes later, Sorey hears a knock on his front door. He runs (staggers) down the stairs and pulls the door open to reveal a blue-haired boy about his age holding a bag of food in one hand and a soda can in the other.

“Here’s your order,” he says, holding the items out to Sorey. His piercing gaze feels like it could cut through Sorey in a single slice—he feels like he’s being judged on the spot...or maybe it’s just the combined hunger and subconscious guilt in his gut. He takes the food from the boy’s hands and offers him a sheepish grin.

“Thanks a lot, uh—” He fumbles with the food, setting it down quickly before pulling out his phone and looking at the unread text message he received when he was passed out on the floor. “—Mikleo?”

The boy nods. “You didn’t respond, so I hope you’re okay with the sauce I picked.”

“Uh...yeah, totally! I never use the sauce anyway.”

Mikleo raises an eyebrow. “Alright, then. Enjoy your meal.”

Sorey waves goodbye as he watches the boy walk back down his driveway. Then, he closes the door and picks up the bag, hugging it to his chest.

_‘I’ve waited so long...I’m so glad you’re finally here.’_

He scarfs the food down like nobody’s business. Not a crumb is left when he is finished.

* * *

Sorey would like to be able to cook. He’d like to be able to be a responsible adult for once in his eighteen years and maybe make himself a decent meal. But somehow, he’s never managed to find the time or even the motivation. With his mother dying young and his father always away on overseas trips, he never really had anyone to teach him how to take care of himself. For as long as he can remember, setting foot in his kitchen has always felt like treading upon sacred ground. He has never felt worthy of the privilege.

Which is why he continues to use the delivery app day after day after day, always ordering the same meal from the same restaurant he loves so much. Not to mention it’s the only thing that can get to him fast enough. With his large house being far enough away from civilization, there are also only a few drivers who can get to his food and then to him within an hour, so it’s only natural that Sorey has begun to memorize their names by now. There’s Edna; the short girl who drives a Beetle and _still_ looks like she’s two sizes too small for the thing. There’s Dezel, who never says a word and always hides his eyes under his hat like some kind of anime protagonist. There’s Lailah, who acts like the mom he’s never had and always brings him extra napkins so he doesn’t “make a mess of his nice t-shirts”.

But most importantly—and also most frequently—there is Mikleo. Mikleo with his icy-blue hair and swept-back bangs that are tinted at the ends—a style all the cool kids are into these days. Mikleo with his judgemental violet gaze always sweeping over Sorey whenever he shows up at his doorstep day after day with a bag of warm chicken tenders. Mikleo whose calm, slightly concerned voice has been on Sorey’s mind ever since the one day he told him, “You should really get something other than chicken tenders, these aren’t good for your health.”

He can’t really explain his fascination with Mikleo, but every time he sees his name pop up on his phone in the delivery app’s obligatory text message, a smile stretches across his face. Maybe it’s his eyes, maybe it’s the relaxing atmosphere he exudes; whatever it is, Sorey can’t get the boy off his mind.

“Do I order all these chicken tenders so I can see Mikleo? Or do I order them because I love chicken tenders?” The lines are blurred beyond reasonable doubt by this point.

But Sorey doesn’t even care anymore. His father is a rich businessman so he has plenty of allowance money to spend on whatever he wants, and if that _whatever_ is hundreds of dollars worth of chicken tenders just so he can see Mikleo more often, then so be it.

* * *

It is a lazy Saturday afternoon when he hears a knock on his front door. Confused, he pushes himself off the couch in his living room and lazily walks over to the front door.

The sight that greets him on his front porch makes him wonder if he’s still asleep. Mikleo is standing there, but there are no chicken tenders in his hand. Instead, he is holding an apron and three bags full of groceries, still watching Sorey with the same intense expression.

Needless to say, Sorey is extremely confused. “Um, I don’t remember ordering anything,” he says hesitantly, his faith in his words dwindling with every passing second. He’s ordered so many chicken tenders in the last few weeks, honestly he’s started to lose track by now—

Mikleo shakes his head quickly. “You’re impossible, Sorey,” he says, and Sorey feels heat rising to his cheeks when he hears his name in the boy’s voice. “You’ve been ordering the same thing over and over again for the past _month_. Honestly, I’m surprised you aren’t sick to your stomach by now.”

“I-I…”

“Anyway, I thought I’d drop these off so you can actually make yourself a decent meal. I’m guessing you don’t drive?”

Sorey barely manages to shake his head before he continues. “I saved up the money from your delivery tips so I could buy these.” He holds up the groceries. “You’re a generous tipper. I appreciate that.”

“Uh, thanks…”

He isn’t even able to think before Mikleo shoves the bags into his hands, along with the apron. “Okay, I’ll be going now,” he announces quickly, and the flustered tone in his voice takes Sorey by surprise—it’s so unlike the calm Mikleo he has interacted with thus far.

The blue-haired boy is already halfway down the driveway before Sorey snaps out of his daze, glancing at the groceries in his arms.

_‘W-what am I even supposed to do with these?!’_

“M-Mikleo, wait!” he calls out. “I don’t know how to cook!”

Mikleo stops dead in his tracks. Then, he turns around to look at Sorey with the most ridiculous un-Mikleo-like slack-jawed expression on his face, and in that moment, all the money he has whittled away on his stupid, _beautiful_ chicken tenders is _completely_ worth it.

* * *

Never in his entire life did Sorey expect to end up in his own kitchen wearing a brand new apron. Never did he expect to see _Mikleo_ standing in the same kitchen, wearing an identical apron and digging through the cupboards searching for supplies. Yet, here they are, and if this is a dream induced by all the ice cream he ate last night, Sorey hopes he never has to wake up.

“Where do you keep the peeler?”

Mikleo is staring at him now, his hands on his hips. Sorey can’t really think straight.

“Uh, what does a peeler look like?” he asks, genuinely curious, and he swears that the sight of a speechless Mikleo is probably the best thing he’ll see all week.

“It’s...never mind, I’ll just use a knife.” He heads over to the knife block and takes out a few, rinsing them under the kitchen faucet. Sorey wasn’t aware that people needed more than one knife to cook—he’d always wondered why they owned an entire block of them—

He nearly jumps when Mikleo places a cutting board in front of him, along with a few onions and one of the knives. “Cut these,” he declares. “Any way will do. You _do_ know how to cut vegetables, right?”

 _‘It can’t be that hard.’_ “Yeah, sure.”

Sorey begins his assignment—sure enough, the onions are easy to cut through, even if their layers keep falling apart. He can just dice them up into small bits and no one can tell the difference.

In less than a minute, however, his eyes begin to sting. “Mikleo...is this normal?” he sniffles, trying his hardest to continue cutting through tear-filled eyes.

The boy walks over from the stove and nods. “You’re not doing too bad.”

“Thanks!” A sob. “I can’t really see anything so I can’t tell!” More sniffles.

Sorey feels pathetic. Tears are streaming down his face and his nose is probably red from all the unintentional crying. He’s never experienced anything quite like this before...and the fact that Mikleo is seeing him like this makes him want to cry for real.

He hears a huff to his left. “Okay, you’ve had enough. Go wash your face, I’ll handle the rest.”

A hand comes down upon his, gently taking the knife from him, and Sorey is sure his entire face is red now to match his nose. He nods and dashes towards the downstairs bathroom, not wanting Mikleo to see him like this any longer.

* * *

 When he finally returns to the kitchen, he sees Mikleo placing a baking dish in what he thought was a storage space for extra pots and pans. He’s never seen his father _use_ the oven under the stove...he didn’t know it could light up like that, or cook what appears to be an entire chicken .

“There you are.” He freezes up in response to Mikleo’s voice. “Here, I’ll teach you how to sauté vegetables.”

He walks over to the stove, where a large pan filled with vegetables is already simmering over the fire. Mikleo picks up the pan and expertly moves it back and forth, tossing the contents without dropping a single piece while Sorey watches on, wide-eyed. He puts the pan back down and takes a step back.

“You can sauté without flipping the pan,” he offers, passing Sorey a handheld utensil. “Just hold the pan handle with one hand, and move the vegetables around with that.”

He tries it, his eyes lighting up when he sees the vegetables slowly beginning to cook in the heat. “I’m really doing it!” he exclaims, using the utensil to flip a bunch of sliced carrots over. “This is amazing, Mikleo!”

He can almost hear the smile in Mikleo’s voice when he replies, “I’m glad you’re enjoying yourself.”

“How do I know when it’s done?”

“You can usually tell from the smell,” Mikleo offers as he takes a step closer and bends over to inspect the contents of the oven. He’s so close, Sorey feels himself growing more flushed already.

“How about now? Are they done now?” he asks quickly.

“Not yet. You need to be patient.”

“I’m sure it’s fine, I can just check—”

“Sorey, it’s—NO WAIT DON’T TOUCH THAT—”

* * *

He can’t see Mikleo’s face, but Sorey is pretty sure he’s fuming by now. He knows it’s his fault, but to be fair, he never had a constant parental figure around to teach him not to go near an open flame, let alone _touch_ it _with his bare hands_. He finishes wrapping the bandages around his left hand, then walks back down the hallway and peeks into the kitchen, nervous.

This time, he sees Mikleo gliding around the room almost as if driven by instinct, carefully alternating between putting things away in the fridge and mixing something together in a large bowl. He looks like he belongs on one of those cooking shows, but while the competing chefs on TV look frustrated and exhausted—no doubt due to the pressure—Mikleo seems just as calm and focused as ever. Watching him is almost hypnotic.

Sorey’s reverie is interrupted by the sound of a timer going off. He sees Mikleo glance briefly at the oven while in the midst of mixing, but his hands are clearly full and Sorey just wants to do something right for once—

“I’ll get it!” he offers eagerly, dashing towards the stove.

He reaches for the handle with his unbandaged hand just as Mikleo yells, “SOREY YOU NEED TO WEAR AN OVEN MITT FIRST—”

But by then, it is already too late.

* * *

Mikleo hears whimpering coming from inside the downstairs bathroom, accompanied by the sound of running water. He heaves a sigh and collapses onto the nearest couch, exhausted. He still doesn’t really know what possessed him to spend his weekend here instead of anywhere else, cooking for a person he barely knew. Maybe it was the pity he felt when he made his third identical delivery to the same house...or maybe it was the way in which this particular customer’s eyes lit up every single time he walked up the driveway with his order.

He has never seen anyone so consistently excited for chicken tenders in his entire life. Even after this long, Sorey never fails to show his enthusiasm, even if he’s already eaten them twice before in the same week. “Thank you, Mikleo!” he always says with a shy grin, and it is all Mikleo can do not to show how happy he is to actually be appreciated for once in his life.

Mikleo is used to being constantly ignored at school. The only friends he has are his coworkers at his other part-time job at the ice cream shop downtown. Up until now, he has always felt as though he’s been drifting through life, almost like a ghost; but now, Sorey has given him a purpose with his silly orders and his bright, green eyes and goofy smile that could melt even the coldest heart.

_‘I would never have met him if I hadn’t taken this part-time job. I can’t believe one of Zaveid’s ideas worked out so well.’_

“Maybe I’ll get him a pair of oven mitts next time,” he wonders out loud as he lays back and closes his eyes, if only just for a little while.

* * *

When Sorey finally comes out of the bathroom after struggling to bandage his other hand, he sees Mikleo passed out on his couch. He is curled up on his side, one arm tucked underneath his body, and his mouth is hanging open slightly. Sorey can’t help but smile.

He fetches a spare blanket from his room and drapes it over the boy’s sleeping form. Watching Mikleo’s chest rise and fall with every breath, Sorey feels his heart swell with happiness—he reaches forward, hesitantly at first, then threads his hand through Mikleo’s pale locks. His hair is surprisingly soft, Sorey notes as he pushes the bangs back from his face, tucking the hair behind his ear. Mikleo stirs a little, and he pulls his hand back, watching him fondly for a few more precious moments.

* * *

The sun has already set by the time Mikleo wakes up. It takes him a few moments to realize that he is not in his own house, and that a blanket with an unfamiliar, yet comforting smell has been wrapped around him. He is warm and unwilling to get up, but he does so anyway, embarrassed at having let his guard down in a stranger’s home.

When he steps into the kitchen to look for Sorey and apologize, he sees that the dishes have been washed, the counters have been cleaned, and the remaining groceries have been put away (presumably somewhere safe). He finds Sorey crouching on the floor and looking through a low shelf.

“Sorey,” he begins hesitantly, and the boy in question stands up.

“Evening! Did you sleep well?” he asks. His smile is warm and inviting as always, and Mikleo can’t help but smile back.

He nods. “I’m sorry for falling asleep and imposing on you like that. It was wrong.”

Sorey lets out a laugh. “You weren’t imposing at all! It’s been nice to have someone else in the house for a change—this place is too big for just me.”

 _‘He’s always alone here?’_ Mikleo feels a pang of sadness stab at his heart.

“The food’s probably cold by now, huh?” Sorey continues with a sheepish laugh. “We can still eat though...I-I mean, if you’d like to stay a little longer.”

The loneliness in his voice is evident, and for the first time, Mikleo realizes that the two of them are more similar than he had initially thought.

“I’d rather be here than anywhere else right now,” he blurts out suddenly, then claps his hands over his mouth, eyes widening in shock. He doesn’t know what could have possibly possessed him to say something _so ridiculously cheesy_ at a time like this....

“R-really?” Sorey’s response is uncharacteristically soft and hesitant, and it tugs at Mikleo’s heartstrings.

“...I’ve got nothing else to do anyway, is what I meant,” he finally manages to say in an attempt to play off his earlier statement, but Sorey’s grin widens anyway. He reaches forward and pulls Mikleo into a hug, taking them both by surprise.

 _‘He’s so warm, and he smells just like his blanket,’_ are the first two thoughts that run through Mikleo’s mind. Other thoughts follow soon after, like _‘he’s taller than me’_ and _‘we both also smell like food’_ , but they are quickly pushed away when Sorey mutters, “thank you, thank you for staying, thank you for visiting me today.” He feels the words reverberate through Sorey’s chest, and it makes his cheeks turn pink.

“You would’ve just ordered more chicken tenders if I hadn’t showed up,” he replies, unable to hide the grin making its way onto his face. Sorey’s smiles really _are_ contagious.

He feels Sorey laugh more than he hears it. “They’re so good though! I can’t resist!”

He huffs. “You’ll see that my cooking is much better. Healthier, too.”

Sorey lets out a hum of acknowledgement, and his breath tickles Mikleo’s ear. “You...should come over more often,” he says softly.

At that, Mikleo freezes, and his heart skips a beat.

_‘He basically just asked me out, and he probably doesn’t even realize it.’_

* * *

Sorey knows exactly what he means when the words leave his mouth. He’s been pining after Mikleo for _weeks_ now, and this could be his only chance to make something of it, to see if there is even a slight chance that his feelings might be returned. He feels Mikleo’s shoulders stiffen in his arms.

_‘I guess that’s a no.’_

He is about to pull away, when suddenly, Mikleo’s arms come up to wrap around him, pulling him just a little closer.

“I’ll take you up on that,” the blue-haired boy mumbles shyly into his chest. “You can pick the movies, I’ll bring the snacks.”

 _‘M-movies?!’_ Sorey’s heart does a few backflips. _‘He took this way further than I’d expected!!’_

“I might also need to bring my homework, though. Oh, and some recipe cards from work. But yes—” And here Mikleo pulls away slightly so he can look Sorey in the eye; his cheeks are flushed. “—I _would_ like to spend more time with you, Sorey.”

“I-I’d like that too,” he replies, as if lost in a daze. Then: “Ah, wait, that’s what I meant in the first place! No, no, wait I-I messed up—”

Mikleo lets out a rare laugh as he pulls away. “Let’s eat, Sorey,” he says, taking him by the hand and leading him into the dining room. “I set everything up earlier and it should be good. We might need to use the microwave, and the chicken could use a few more minutes in the oven—”

The boy continues to ramble, but all Sorey can focus on is the warmth of their intertwined hands.

* * *

Later that night, as Sorey stands on his front porch and waves to Mikleo as he drives away, he feels his phone vibrate in his back pocket. Pulling it out, he sees a surprising amount of missed calls and text messages from his father _,_ of all people—

_“pick up the phone sorey!!”_

_“what the hell did u spend $200 on last month???”_

_“these are international calls pick up the phone or I’ll cut off your cable privileges!!!”_

He grimaces. He has a _lot_ of explaining to do.

* * *

Extra:

“Why did you have to bandage your hands so tightly?”

Sorey makes a face as he tries to pick up a piece of chicken with his fork, clearly struggling. “I thought it’d hurt less?”

He flinches when the fork falls out of his hands and onto his plate. Mikleo heaves a sigh and pushes himself out of his chair, walking over to Sorey and sitting down next to him instead.

“Honestly, I don’t know how you even managed to clean the kitchen in this condition.” He picks up the fork and holds it up so the chicken is facing Sorey. “Here. I’ll feed you.”

A wave of heat rushes to Sorey’s face to the point that his brain completely stops working. He opens and closes his mouth, unable to form a coherent sentence.

“Stop overreacting.” Mikleo gives him a serious look, but his cheeks are equally red as well. “I’ve been bringing you food this whole time. This is practically the same thing.”

“Y-you need to eat too…”

“I can eat while I feed you,” comes the reply. “Now open up.”

Sorey hesitantly opens his mouth and bites down on the chicken offered to him. He chews and murmurs, “This is good,” in between bites.

“I’m glad.”

He expects Mikleo to put down his fork and grab another set of silverware from the kitchen. He does not expect Mikleo to use the _exact same fork_ to pick something off his own plate and place it in his mouth.

_‘Is-is this an indirect kiss??!!’_

“Okay, now it’s your turn—Sorey, are you okay? Sorey!”

It’s going to be a long night.

**Author's Note:**

> I actually had to look up how sautéing works OTL


End file.
